


Long Distance

by elizashaw



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-29
Updated: 2008-08-29
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:52:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizashaw/pseuds/elizashaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two cities.  Two phones.  Two guys.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Distance

Jim refuses to feel pathetic as he glances at the clock, shifting the soft flannel shirt draped around his neck and double-checking to see that the phone is in reach. Two minutes. He pops open his button fly and drags a warm palm over his hardening cock. Smell dials up automatically, mingling the musk of his growing arousal with the deeper scent of Blair's most-worn flannel--the one that he liberated from the laundry before Blair could add it to the pile of clothes to wash and pack for the week-long seminar on community policing. 

The minute hand clicks over and the phone rings. Jim grins. In this, at least, he has gotten Sandburg trained. Two lectures and one phone call to the local police station the last time his guide missed a scheduled call convinced Sandburg of Jim's seriousness. Too much had happened over the years to trust in any nave belief that Sandburg calling late would be a matter of nothing more than him having lost track of time, especially when the call would be coming from hundreds or thousands of miles away as Blair skipped from speaking engagement to speaking engagement. 

"Ellison." 

"Hey, Jim. Did I ever thank you for being so anal about this call-in thing?" 

"Nope, gratitude isn't exactly what I remember you expressing." Surprise interrupts his standard aural check of Blair's tone, breathing, and heart-rate, monitoring those unconscious non-verbal cues for indication of mood and general state of being. 

"Well, here's me officially offering up sincere gratitude, man, `cause I so needed an out from the spill-over of the last session. Would you believe..." 

Satisfied that Blair's elevated vitals speak to indignation rather than danger, Jim settles back more comfortably back into the couch and lets the rant flow over him as Sandburg trips over his tongue trying to get words out fast enough to express his utter disgust with Sergeant So-and-So over yadda, yadda. 

Jim lets his eyes slide closed as he rests his elbow on the edge of the couch, firmly pressing the receiver to his ear to catch every whooshing breath and solid thumping heartbeat that provide the bass line to counter the smooth baritone, and occasional tenor, of Blair's words. 

With Blair's scent hugging close around his neck and Blair's voice in his ear, Jim releases the iron control he regularly exerts over his arousal and strokes his cock in rhythm with that steady heartbeat. Lub-lub. Up-down. Lub-lub. Up-down. 

Sometimes guilt pokes at him over his insistence on the regular calls stemming as much from a much more base need to hear his guide as from concern about Blair being too far away for him to protect. The need to hear and take advantage of, as his conscience so often reminds him. When Blair's tucked up and sleeping in the room beneath him, he can indulge himself safely at home as often as he needs to, but the separation that comes of frequent travel has frustrated that need ever since Sandburg managed to make a name for himself in the criminal justice community with his success in starting up collaborative efforts between communities and local police departments. 

"Seriously, I mean, what were they thinking? The whole department must have had their heads up their asses." 

Jim grunts a vague agreeing noise as he registers the expectant pause. He arches his back so that his nipples scrape against the soft fabric of his t-shirt, and the press of his neck into the flannel releases more scent with the shift of material. His hand outstrips the pace of Blair's heart as he pulls and tugs, feeling the minute ridges of the creases and whorls along the inside of his fingers against the heavy veins and thin skin of his pulsing cock. 

"The commissioner, who by the way, was a total dick..." 

Sandburg is off again, and the tone reaches deep inside Jim, pulling at his balls, and as much as he would rather sit for hours teasing himself with scent and sound, with images of flashing blue eyes and mobile mouth against his closed eyelids, he knows he has only minutes if he wants to get off before they hang up. The risk of Blair hearing and discovering terrifies him, but that adds to the thrill, and coming alone with the dial-tone in his ear leaves him feeling somehow more hollow than satiated. 

He slides a thumb moistened with pre-come over the slit on his cock with every long, quick stroke from balls to head, pulling at the orgasm rushing from his sense-overloaded brain down his spine. 

"So you're coming, right?" 

Jim muzzles his gasp in the flannel on his shoulder and taste explodes across his tongue, ratcheting up and augmenting Blair's scent as the words provide the trigger that has him coming over his hand and onto the coffee table and carpet. 

"Jim? Are you still planning to pick me up at the airport tomorrow?" 

"Yep," Jim struggles to control his breathing as his cock twitches, too sensitive to tuck away just yet. "Meet you at the curb like always." 

"Good, that's good. Damn, I really gotta go. Gotta get ready for that last session that I'm supposed to be leading tomorrow." 

"Still prepping at the last minute, Chief?" Sweat drips down his neck, threatening to overwhelm Sandburg's scent on the shirt, but he can't bring himself to care too much since tomorrow he'll have the source of that scent back where he belongs. 

"Why mess with a system that works?" Blair's laugh soothes the last of the tremors, bathing Jim in the secure warmth of friendship. He'll enjoy that warmth until higher brain functions kick back in and lecture him for using his guide this way or, worse, castigate him for the cowardice that keeps him from speaking up and admitting what he wants, what he needs, from Blair. 

"You know, one of these days, I'm gonna let you get a word in edgewise, maybe even make you do all the talking when I call." 

"Be a quick call." 

"I'm sure you could come up with something," Blair snorts. "Seriously, thanks for letting me mouth off. See you tomorrow." 

"Tomorrow," Jim holds onto the word as a promise and grips the phone as though through it he could grab onto Blair and bring him close. 

"'Nite, Jim." 

"Goodnight, Chief." 

The click and silence bring him fully back to the loft. He drops the phone on the couch and grimaces as he surveys his sticky hand and cock. A few quick swipes with the flannel take care of the worst of the mess. Even if Blair wouldn't be able to smell what he's been up to a day later, Jim would. A quick shower then cleaning, Jim decides, stripping off contentedly as he heads for the bathroom. 

Two thousand miles away in a Cleveland hotel room, Blair groans and fists his cock desperately and explodes over his hand into the rough washcloth that keeps him from adding DNA to the inevitable collection on the hotel linen. Boneless, he slumps back in the bed and grins. Of all the vocabulary he managed to drop into the story that he knew Jim wasn't listening to, he's especially proud of asking whether Jim was coming. 


End file.
